


All Through

by anoyo



Series: Home Series [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-16
Updated: 2007-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:45:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/anoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes that bug to write just can't be denied, not even by the Fullmetal Alchemist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Through

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Home series. This series does not have a chronological order, merely a shared theme of domesticity and the feeling of "home." Originally posted [here](http://anoyo.livejournal.com/105402.html).

After so much time spent in the library, absorbing book after book, words making themselves part of the core of his being, it was no wonder that Ed had found himself drawn to writing.

The only strange part was that he had been drawn to writing fiction, of all things. His studying had been pointed, intense, and controlled, but his writing was anything but. The plots his brain screamed for him to release were erratic, artsy, and convoluted, and while still intense, his desires to write came at him whenever they felt like it.

Sometimes they'd come on a sunny Spring afternoon, sitting at the sofa and reading, and sometimes it would be like tonight, at three a.m., causing the lighting of a lamp four hours after it had been put out.

He was continually amazed at how thoroughly his writing controlled him, and how, at a moment's notice, a new thought would come to him, and if he didn't write it down, it would be lost for good.

And so it was that he was frantically scribbling fifteen minutes later, page after page of vital -- at least at the moment -- information, pen scratching across scratchier paper.

Luckily Ed's bedmate was a patient being, and merely rolled over to stare blearily at his departed source of additional warmth. Eventually the writing eased to a more sedate pace, the lamp doused, and the covers rolled peaceably back to admit their amiable wanderer.

"Mm," Roy murmured drowsily, throwing a casual arm around Ed's waist and pulling the smaller man against his chest. "I do so wish you'd give me some warning before you cause the undercover temperature to drop fifteen degrees," he said pleasantly. "An alarm or something. Or maybe a, 'Roy, I have a mad desire to scratch noisily on your insignia parchment, as, heaven forbid, my own parchment certainly too far away.' Something like that."

Ed chuckled, the rumble passing through them both. "If you find someone who can make that alarm, I'll pay for it. Till then, you've got plenty of fancy paper, and I'm sure Hawkeye is used to you coming in and being terribly unproductive, anyway, so your sleep is reparable. And my noisy scratching can only be done when the divine fates who control noisy scratching say so." He turned to face the other man, smiling staidly and quickly falling back into sleep. "Maybe I'll have as many good ideas when I write your biography, hm?" He kissed the other briefly, and wormed cold limbs back among their bedfellows.

"Maybe? I should certainly hope so, after all these odd hours. It's like we had children." Roy yawned. "Only, you know, two-dimensional, scritchy children. That never get out of the all-hours-of-the-night stage. Really, I'm not sure why you say you'd make such a terrible parent. You care for your thoughts so sweetly."

Ed batted at Roy's arm, conveniently within reach, and rolled his eyes at the common topic. "Do you not remember Elysia when she was small? Imagine what anything either of us might manage to produce would be like. Why on earth would you submit the rest of the city to that." He grinned, kissing the arm he'd swatted. "And if I know you, you'd put Hughes' obsession to shame. So shut up, and pamper the two-dimensional darlings, all right?"

"All right," Roy ceded, running fingers through Ed's bangs. "Just go back to sleep, and maybe I'll trick you into agreeing to it when you're too tired to think in the morning."

There might have been a snort in reply to that, maybe, if Ed had still been awake, but sleep had taken him, and comfort had soothed away the aches of yesterday.

It was a normal night; calm, sweet, and never to be taken for granted.


End file.
